CHAPTER VI
Echoes of the First Flame
The wind howled across the ruins of Kaer'Thalan like a mourning choir, carrying with it the scent of ancient ash and the distant promise of storm. Above the shattered Seal-Tower, the sky darkened, though the sun still hung high. Clouds gathered in slow, circling spirals, as if drawn by an unseen vortex centered upon the broken heart of the city.
Alaric stood at the edge of the pedestal where the First Seal lay in fragments, its cracked crystal still pulsing faintly with molten light. The vision of the past had faded, but its weight remained, pressing upon his mind and soul like the afterimage of staring into a furnace.
Vorthraxx.
The name alone seemed to carry heat.
Lysa watched him closely, her expression a mixture of concern and wonder. "What you saw… it was more than a memory, wasn't it? It was a resonance. The seal recognized you."
Alaric nodded slowly. "It felt as though the crystal… knew my blood. As if it had been waiting."
"That is not impossible," she said. "The seals were forged with sacrifice—royal, arcane, and draconic. If your mother truly was of the Emberline, then her ancestors' blood may have been part of the binding itself. The magic could still echo through you."
A low tremor rippled through the ground, subtle but unmistakable. Dust drifted down from the cracked vault of the tower, and a faint, distant rumble rolled through the stone like the growl of some colossal beast shifting in its sleep.
"Another tremor?" Alaric asked.
Lysa shook her head, listening intently. "Not the earth. The ley-lines. Something just… moved."
They left the tower and stepped back into the open crater. The air had grown warmer, and the shimmering haze above the fused stone was stronger now, distorting the ruins as though seen through rippling water.
At the far edge of the crater, where the blackened ground met the unburned snow of the plateau, a shape waited.
At first, Alaric thought it was a trick of light—a column of heat rising from the stone. Then it resolved into a figure.
Tall and slender, formed of living flame and translucent scale, it stood upon the scorched earth without sinking or leaving mark. Its wings were folded, but even so they arched high above its head, composed not of flesh, but of fire shaped into the memory of feathers and membrane. Its eyes were twin cores of white-hot light.
Pyraxis.
Not merely a spectral projection this time, but an echo given form, anchored by the dying power of the seal.
Lysa fell to one knee instinctively, though she did not bow her head. "Flame-General of the Elder Host," she said, her voice steady despite the awe that trembled beneath it. "Why do you manifest here, in the open world?"
"Because the chains loosen," Pyraxis replied, his voice like the roar of a distant inferno. "And when the bonds of the Eternal weaken, all who are bound by oath or blood begin to stir. Even those who once swore to stand against him."
His gaze fixed upon Alaric. "And because the heir of ember walks free beneath the sky."
Alaric met the dragon's burning eyes, forcing himself not to look away. "You spoke of choice. Of dominion or guardianship. But you served Vorthraxx in the wars of old. Why would you now speak of balance?"
A ripple of something like sorrow passed through the living flame of Pyraxis's form.
"Because we learned," the dragon said. "Too late for many worlds, but not, perhaps, for this one. Vorthraxx sought not merely to rule, but to remake. To burn away all that he deemed weak, until only fire and those who could endure it remained. We followed, believing strength and eternity to be the highest law."
He lifted his head, and the sky above flickered with ghostly images: continents wreathed in flame, seas boiling, cities reduced to glowing scars upon the earth.
"And then we saw what remained when victory was complete. A world of ash has no songs, no forests, no children. Only silence… and hunger."
The images faded.
"Luminaryx understood this first," Pyraxis continued. "The Light Dragon, whose essence was creation as much as flame. He turned against the Eternal and aided in the forging of the chains that bound him. For that, he was destroyed. But his sacrifice seeded doubt among us. Doubt… and the memory of another path."
Alaric felt the warmth in his chest intensify, as though an inner fire responded to the dragon's words.
"You said the Crown of Ash is stirring," he said. "What is it?"
"A relic of the First Binding," Pyraxis replied. "Forged from star-metal and dragonbone, quenched in the blood of kings and the fire of Luminaryx himself. It was created to command the Elder Host, should Vorthraxx ever break free of his prison. Not to rule them as a tyrant, but to bind them by ancient law and oath to the defense of the world."
Lysa's eyes widened. "A crown that can command dragons?"
"Not command," Pyraxis corrected. "Invoke. There is a difference. It does not bend will. It calls upon it, through covenant and memory. Only one of the bloodlines woven into the First Binding may wear it without being consumed by its power."
He looked again at Alaric.
"The Emberline," the dragon said. "And through them, the Child of Two Paths."
Alaric's thoughts raced. "Then if I am of that blood… the crown could be mine?"
"Could," Pyraxis agreed. "Or it could destroy you. Or it could fall into the hands of those who would use it to enthrone Vorthraxx as a god, not a king bound by law."
The dragon's gaze flicked toward the north, toward the jagged line of the Ironspine Mountains. "The cult you will soon face knows of the crown. They seek it even now. And they seek you, whether they yet know your name or not."
As if summoned by those words, the wind shifted, carrying with it the distant echo of horns and the faint, rhythmic thunder of marching feet.
Lysa turned, scanning the horizon. "We're not alone anymore."
Far across the plateau, dark specks moved against the snow, resolving slowly into a line of riders and foot soldiers, their banners black, their armor catching the light with a dull, oily sheen.
"The Broken Flame," Pyraxis said. "Their vanguard. They have learned that Kaer'Thalan's seal has fallen, and they come to claim what knowledge and relics remain."
His form began to waver, the fire that composed him thinning as the last strength of the shattered seal bled away.
"I cannot remain," he said. "This echo is bound to the dying anchor. But before I fade, you must hear what the First Flame truly is."
The air around him brightened, and for a moment, Alaric felt as though he stood at the heart of a star.
"Before dragons had names, before they had forms, there was Fire," Pyraxis intoned. "Not the fire of wood or coal, but the primal flame from which stars were born and worlds were tempered. That is the First Flame. Vorthraxx was the first to fully embody it, to bind its essence to will and shape. He is not merely a dragon. He is a living shard of creation's furnace."
The vision around them shifted again. Alaric saw a young world, molten and forming, and within its storms of fire, a vast, serpentine presence coiling and awakening.
"To destroy him utterly would be to tear a wound in the fabric of the world," Pyraxis continued. "To let him reign unchecked would be to reduce that world to cinder. Thus, the ancient pacts sought a third way: binding, balance, and the hope that one day, will and flame might be reconciled."
The dragon's eyes burned into Alaric's.
"You are not meant to slay the Eternal," he said. "Nor to serve him. You are meant to stand between, as those of the Emberline once did, and choose when to unleash fire… and when to stay its hand."
A sharp pain flared in Alaric's chest, and he gasped. Beneath his tunic, the skin over his heart grew hot, then searing. He tore the cloth aside and saw, etched into his flesh in lines of faintly glowing gold, the outline of a sigil: a circle of flame crowned by stylized wings, crossed by a thorned branch.
"The Mark of the First Covenant," Pyraxis said softly. "It awakens at the touch of the seal and the presence of dragonkind. From this moment on, the world's ancient powers will know you for what you are."
The approaching figures on the horizon were closer now. Alaric could see the glint of spearpoints, the flutter of tattered cloaks.
"What do we do?" he asked.
"Survive," Pyraxis replied. "Reach the Heart of Winter, as I told you. There lies the counterbalance to the First Flame, a relic of ice and time that can slow the unraveling of the seals. And seek the Crown of Ash before the cult does. Its resting place is hidden, but the paths to it will open as the ley-lines awaken."
The dragon's form dimmed, his edges dissolving into sparks that drifted away on the wind.
"One last thing, Child of Two Paths," he said, his voice now like the fading crackle of embers. "Do not think that all dragons will follow Vorthraxx when he rises. Some will remember Luminaryx. Some will remember the old oaths. And some will look to you… to decide which memory shall shape the age to come."
With that, Pyraxis vanished.
The warmth in the air receded, leaving behind the cold bite of the northern wind and the looming reality of the approaching cult.
Lysa rose to her feet, her face pale but resolute. "So it's true. You are marked. Not just by prophecy, but by the First Covenant itself."
Alaric let the fabric of his tunic fall back into place, though he could still feel the faint heat of the sigil against his skin. "I didn't ask for this."
"No," Lysa said gently. "But the world rarely asks before it places its burdens."
The distant horns sounded again, clearer now, their harsh notes echoing across the plateau.
"We can't fight them here," she continued. "Not in the open, not with their numbers. We need to move. The Deep Ways have other exits. If we can reach the old frost tunnels, we might lose them in the ice."
Alaric looked once more at the shattered Seal-Tower, at the dying crystal that had awakened both ancient memory and something new within him.
"This place was the first chain," he said. "And it's broken."
"Yes," Lysa replied. "But not the last. And now we know what is at stake."
They turned and ran, skirting the edge of the obsidian crater, heading toward a narrow ravine that cut down into the earth like a wound. Behind them, the banners of the Broken Flame advanced, and far beyond the mountains, something vast and ancient stirred in its sleep, responding to the call of the First Flame and the echo of a bloodline long thought extinguished.